Stream of Consciousness Sunday: Saturday Nights Through the Decades

On Sunday over here, there’s this thing we do. Write for five minutes about whatever you feel like dumping (the good, the bad, or the ugly), but don't edit it before pushing publish. I’d like to give a shout out to my auto-correct today for fixing my misspellings and not replacing them with the usual nonsensical stuff.

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Boy have my Saturday nights changed over the last quarter century. 

We first stayed in on Saturday nights because or kids were little and, frankly, we didn’t have the money for either a babysitter or TGI Fridays. We added ground beef to Ragu, poured it over spaghetti, made some toast, and called it dinner. They loved it! Maybe at ten o’clock when the kids were finally down, we’d have a bottle of beer. Some of the best Saturday nights of our marriage were spent like this.

When we couldn’t get our kids to stop growing so fast, so we rode the roller coaster of activities. Saturday night meals were often rotating drive-thru fast food, or whatever snacks I had in the back of the Suburban. We were a family on the run. Some of our best family memories were during this whir.

Then high school hit hard and our Saturday nights were spent organizing driving shifts with other parents. Maybe sneaking in a quick dinner out or a movie then playing “Rock, Paper, Scissors” for who would wait up. Because the curfew sheriff was always awake. Most Saturdays we wished the kids had their driver’s licenses already.

Wow, was ignorance bliss because once they did, Saturday nights meant no chance of rest until the keys were hung back up. And fingers crossed that curfews were made because who feels like playing “Bad Cop” at midnight, though we would if we had to. We were lucky here.

Being an empty nester, Saturday nights feel a little like being a kid in a candy store. Though whhat we secretly longed for was a text to know how you were. (I’m just being nice. We don’t worry about it all that much.) Wanting to know you are safe.

But still, ironically, the very best Saturday night feeling in the world may be having your kid tucked safely under the covers of their own bed and relishing in the chance to walk past their door, again, with the opportunity to peek in. 

That was my Saturday night last night.

My Kid Turned 24 and I Feel...

I am not feeling any older than I did five short years ago. Not even ten years ago, maybe. I am in the same physical shape. A bit thinner actually (though I am not sure this is a good thing). Not as strong. Smarter, for sure.

“The great thing about getting older is that you don’t lose all the other ages you’ve been.” Madeleine L’Engle

My thoughts aren’t particularly those of a (little older than) middle-aged person. I do feel wiser after going around those blocks.

“Another belief of mine: that everyone else my age is an adult, whereas I am merely in disguise.” Margaret Atwood

So then, how in the world did I become a person who has a 24-year-old child?

I am convinced that most people do not grow up. We marry and dare to have children and call that growing up. I think what we do is mostly grow old. We carry accumulation of years in our bodies, and on our faces but generally our real selves, the children inside, are innocent and shy as magnolias. Maya Angelou

Where did the time go? So imperceptibly, it moved, that I almost didn’t hear the whirr. 

“There is a certain part of all of us that lives outside of time.

Perhaps we become aware of our age only at exceptional moments and most of the time we are ageless.

Milan Kundera (Who is this guy? He is the author of The Unbearable Lightness of Being (good book/movie))

The speed is dizzying!

“Just remember when you’re over the hill, you begin to pick up speed.” Charles M. Schulz

Stop. Just stop.

“Do not wait for life. Do not long for it. Be aware, always and at every moment, that the miracle is in the here and now. “ Marcel Proust

In my morning prayers, I always ask for moments, minutes, entire days for which I am fully present. Living. Because “time and tide wait for no man” (Who said this? A quick google search gives credit to the poet Geoffrey Chaucer)

“None are so old as those who have outlived enthusiasm.” Henry David Thoreau

I am desperately trying to maintain my zest for life. Be excited by things. Little things. Am I running out of time for new adventures? I desperately want to be interesting. Feel interesting. I still want “you” to think I am interesting. If nothing else.

Wrinkles should merely indicate where the smiles have been. Mark Twain

Sometimes I look in the mirror and all I see are dark circles and deep crow's feet.  Other times, I see the twenty or thirty year old looking at me. Many times I like what I see. Sometimes, when I’m tired, especially, I don’t. And I think to myself, “Where am I?” 

And I always notice the eyes. "Where is the crystal blue?".

“I may be a senior but so what? I’m still hot.” Betty White

She's funny, and I wish. 

Nature gives you the face you have at twenty; it is up to you to merit the face you have at fifty. Coco Chanel

Yep, my daughter turned 24 yesterday, and to think she believes she’s old!!!

First, I want to know how it happened, then why she didn't ask me if she could grow up so fast. 

And why don’t I feel old enough for that?

Not Making a Decision is Making a Choice

Are you a decisive person?

While some people are deeply convinced Zodiac signs, and the traits that each one possesses, hold credence with how we behave, I am not. I am a Libra, born smack dab in the middle of the date range. Libras are “supposed to be” notoriously diplomatic, and chronically indecisive. I am extremely diplomatic and fair, but I am also very decisive. Maybe a little too decisive sometimes.

I wholeheartedly believe you learn this skill. I learned to make thoughtful, and thought out, decisions from my father. My dad takes decision making to the “nth” degree, and considers, not only the positive results of said choice, but also the potentially awful (“and if you can live with those”…).

I don’t quite go to the depth of his process (not at all), but I did learn to, and do, ponder choices, and then MAKE THEM to the best of my ability usually relying on equal parts intuition and logic. I will admit to making far too many stupid, and quick, ones in my younger years. But I made them. (I was a math major through most of college; I don’t know why I think it helped, but I am convinced of it did nonetheless.).

I had a conversation yesterday with my daughter. Let me rephrase; she talked and I listened. She was reevaluating a decision she recently, and quickly, made to move out of our house and into a city apartment with some friends. Even thought the first month’s rent was already paid, and most of her things moved out, she questioned the rashness of her decision for a number of reasons.

She described with well thought out, and sound reasons, her decision, and it’s possible drawbacks. In her mind, the pros outweighed the cons, and I agreed. She’s scared, but making decisions then sticking them out is sometimes scary. I am intensely proud of her.

This discussion reminded me of many times when my kids were young. We talked a lot about making good decisions, and how not making a decision is also a decision, in and of its self. When you chose not to decide, or leave it up to someone else, you have no other option but to accept the consequences of your non-decision (good or bad). It is always better to make the choice yourself, rather than rely on someone else who may not be as thoughtful as you, have the same goals/values, or your best interests at heart.

My daughter made an uncomfortable, yet exciting, but difficult decision to spread her wings, exert her independence, and begin living her own life. It is bittersweet, and makes me sad because, as happy as I am for her, I will not be able to look at her whenever I want, or touch her soft skin, but she made a decision. For herself.

Trifecta: It's ALWAYS Something With Boys

Carefree hang time,

Spinning 360 degrees,

Snowboarding bliss

one moment,

Morphs into

fractured bones,

flesh,

plaster.

Yet,

a boy smiles big discovering

growth plates aren’t closed!

6’2” and beyond.

You’re still our “Peanut”.

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This weekend's Trifextra challenge:  As you'll recall from your elementary science class days, the structure of the earth can be divided most simply into three sections: core, mantle, crust.  Here's a diagram.

Image courtesy of Danilo Rizzuti / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Give us 33 words from it.  Interpret the prompt however you wish--literal, metaphorical, or somewhere in between.  If you would like to use the image on your own blog, you must properly credit it.

You Know What They Say About Small Packages

Packing two overtired kids and a trunk load of presents into the car, my parents made the rounds to our grandmothers’ houses every Christmas Eve. The car radio set to a station that chronicled Santa’s journey giving updates as to his current whereabouts.

Our first stop was perennially the “old” Lithuanian neighborhood to drop off gifts for my great grandma and great aunts. Shortly after, we'd be turning right at the Baby Doll Polka Club just behind Midway Airport and our car would glide to the curb in front of Grandma Genny's house in Chicago. 

The big picture window framed her slight body, which was aglow in lights as she hung ornaments on her tree by herself. As a child, I always wondered why grandma never spent Christmas Eve with her mother and unmarried sisters.

Obligatory hugs and kisses traded, my brother and I sat expectantly on her plastic covered couch to patiently wait for “present time”. Once the grown ups settled into living room chairs with their beverages, our job was to distribute boxes as excitement bubbled over. 

Grandma Genny gave the best gifts. Covered with sparkling foil paper and candy, a fun toy or game from Woolworths was always inside. She didn’t have much but she gave thoughtfully.

Seeing my name on a box I thought was far too small, my nine year old heart sank. Eyes immediately shifting to my brother’s gift, gigantic in my opinion, sizing it up against mine. 

My tear-rimmed eyes found Grandma Genny’s and she patted the seat next to her on the couch.

“Good things come in smaller packages.” She whispered in my ear.

It's hard to believe that when you're nine.

“What order should we open presents this year, Grandma?” asked my brother.

“Why don’t we go youngest to oldest? Jimmy, you go first.” Grandma squeezed my hand.

Like a Tasmanian devil, my brother tore threw his larger than life package ripping heavy gauge tape to get inside. Screaming with joy, he spilled out 1,000 green army men and a plastic camouflaged tank from a nondescript box.

I looked to Grandma for reassurance, “Your turn, honey.”

Slowly unwrapping her gift, my eyes became saucers as I unveiled a white transistor radio for my bedroom. Ecstatic, I threw my arms around my Grandma Genny’s neck in thanks.

She was perfectly right. My small gift was far better to me than any big box of plastic soldiers. My brother was lining up army men and attacking them with pillows while she helped me tune into Santa’s journey.

The following year, as was tradition, my parents packed up for the same road trip around Chicagoland. This time, as my brother opened his extremely large box, I smiled knowingly at Grandma Genny.

My brother received a case of his favorite black olives.

And I opened a beautiful jewelry box.

Never again did I contemplate or compare the size of a present. I learned to trust the giver.

Let The Stress, Errr Season, Begin!

Yep! It’s that time of year again. And this weekend starts it all.

Yippee! It’s the Holidays.

Kids arrive home bearing “gifts” that smell.

In-laws from both sides come for a visit. Some stay too long; some not long enough. You know the saying about fish and relatives, right? They begin to smell after three days.

Households might be a little more stressed than usual for the next six weeks…Or possibly not and never in my house, for sure ;-)

I thought I’d leave you with a short saying that might hold some truth.

I don’t know. 

Just throwing it out there.

(From Change the Topic's Facebook page. I don't know where Mrs. Bird got it originally)

SOC: Who Starts a Conversation with...

Sunday means streaming…stream of consciousness (thank Jana here)…so that’s exactly what I will do for this 11^th day of NaBloPoMo (it's actually getting a little easier to type as the days wind on).

My plan for these five minutes of unedited writing is just to wing it because I had a weird (I always seem to have some sort of weird) conversation starter this weekend that I thought was sharable. Something I would never say.

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I just returned from a girls’ weekend at the lake. It was lovely getting to know a few women I hardly know. Two I know fairly well (including the hostess) and one I know extremely well. I like to sleep in my own bed, just do, so I didn’t stay there.

Since I had to drive home at night, I was not imbibing :-(, which was fine because it gave me the opportunity to observe, ask questions and listen. Right up my alley!

One of the ladies that falls into the “sort of know” category has a son who spent his first full-time summer at the lake. Most laker kids, or “water rats”, have spent all their summers in rural Indiana. It’s a pretty tight group who has known each other since birth. Almost like cousins. There are probably 13 of them.

This kid (my friend’s son), I don’t know well which is saying something because most kids run through my house once a day at least. He is trouble, been arrested several times, etc. and from the time my son was young I counseled him to keep his distance (Matt doesn’t need any assistance in that regard, who does?).

That’s the background.

So this woman sits down next to me with her 3^rd or 4^th glass of wine in hand and says…”my son (not using name) came home at the beginning of the summer and said, “Matt F (that’s my guy) is a dick (her word).”

I said, “oh, really. Why’s that?”

Then I just sat back and let her talk wondering where theconversation was headed. I knew she’d eventually either stick her foot in her mouth and/or dig herself a giant hole.

It took only 3 minutes of patience to get my answer.

Who starts a conversation with someone like that?

Trifecta: Flip A Coin

Andy Rooney created something called “The 50-50-90 rule: anytime you have a 50-50 chance of getting something right, there's a 90% probability you'll get it wrong.”  Trifecta wants us to formulate our own probability equations.  Use whichever numbers suit us, and make it about whatever we'd like, but give them something to think about.  In 33 words, of course.

From Life123.com

Marrying for love; being right > 51% 

(Fingers-crossed!)

Raising upstanding, compassionate, 

world contributors > 73.575% 

(Subjectively optimistic!)

Both easy < 10%

(Nonstop excitement!)

Value on E-Bay = Priceless 

(I checked! ;-))

Small Presents And A Melancholy Halloween

Believe it or not, I’m not much of a present person. It’s pretty hard to get me to give “you” a list for my birthday or a holiday. Oftentimes, my family hates the things I ask for so I always say, 

“Get me something you’d like for me to have.” 

"Oh, come on! You must want something!" 

"Spend time with me."

"That's it?"

"Yep!"

Then they groan (a lot). 

I suppose I'm not making it easy for them but, in reality, I am. I'm really pretty simple.

My favorite gifts? Little things. Those that come in small packages and I don’t mean the “little blue box” because I don’t really wear jewelry. I love pictures and letters and books the most.

Yesterday, I received the most timely gift from my BFF, “sister from another mister”, knows me like the back of her hand, girlfriend.

She came upon this picture and walked it over to my house (she lives one block over). It's a picture of Matthew from Kindergarten. He’s the blonde in the forefront. 

I can see the trim job he gave his bangs while I was somewhere else (bad mommy!). That kid he’s with became the biggest bully in the whole grade school and his bangs got “trimmed” in the same incident. Still sorry Robin!

The funny thing about this particular picture is that my friend's son, same age, wasn’t even in Matt’s class. I have no idea why she would have taken it but I’m glad she did so she could come across it yesterday and bring back a fond memory for me exactly when I needed one.

Halloween was a little melancholy for me. My husband left for a golf trip leaving me home alone (YIKES!!!) on the creepiest day of the year (why would he do that?), my kids are away at school, and the cutest ghosts, goblins, ninjas, football players and cheerleaders paraded across my porch.

My kids used to dress up like all those things. 

I used to dress up in giant hair rollers, robe and slippers pretending that I forgot it was Halloween and that the ringing doorbell woke me up from my nap (so I can act!). When they got older, sometimes my costumes embarrassed them like the one with the pink beehive wig, which by the way, is used at college now.

And the year this picture was taken, I’m pretty sure Matt was in his Power Ranger stage, which went on through 3^rd grade. He, then, rode out the rest of his trick or treating days as a football player.

I wonder what he was last night. 

I know his sister was a pirate.

I miss all that.

And I miss them.

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It's the first day of NaBloPoMo over at Yeah Write! We've committed to writing and posting every day for the month of November. I guarantee you will love the stories these writers will share each and everyday. So join us. We're fun. Promise!

Don't Poke The Mama Bear!

I’m really very laid back. Not a whole lot ruffles my feathers.

I’ve learned to pick my battles with myself, my husband, my children, and the world, for that matter. My social life has experienced enough attrition over the years (the fluff is gone) that it’s all love with my friends.

You know what you can’t do?

You can't mess with my kids. Period.

No one would mess with “Sissy”, my daughter. She’s tougher than I could ever dream of being. What attribute does she get from me? Once she opens up, you’re in for life unless you majorly F%CK it up. I’d give you another chance but not her.

My sensitive son is only beginning to understand some subtleties of relationships. He takes everything to heart, bleeds for others, and would give you the clothes off his back and my money out of his pocket if someone needed it.

Raising Matt was a daily challenge.

He’s also bright, charming, and vibrant but he’s different, too.

I knew it as did his teachers.

In first grade, Dr. C. said, “Our little lion doesn’t fit into this box called ‘school’. He’s a square peg. The problem is he has to get through it. In the end, he’ll be fine.”

“Are you holding him back?” I gulped.

“Heavens no. He’s too bright!”

Every time I’d see her over the next 13 years she'd ask, “How’s our lion?”

During 4^th grade, our lion was officially diagnosed with learning disabilities that prevented his extremely intelligent brain from realizing it’s true capabilities, which is something we surmised all along. His mind worked differently. Imagine running on a treadmill set at 8mph, which is fast. It’s moving so quickly if you pause at all, you'd fall off. That's how fast his brain processed.

It also decided to mix things up at the same by changing the order of words and letters so when he saw “it”, “and” and “the”, they never looked the same the next time he read. His coping mechanism was to listen carefully because it was the only way to insure he'd catch everything, which became extremely unpopular with teachers who insisted on note taking.

I’m simplifying this but, in essence, this is what it was like.

We resisted medication in 4th grade choosing accomodations and modified nutrition first. In sixth grade, he had a complete breakdown in a “team” meeting that reduced him to tears. He begged for help. My heart was crushed as I watched him crumble before my eyes.

The only option left became medication because falling further behind wasn’t one with high school right around the corner.  It was a blessing. The moment you realize your child’s brain is “unlocked” is one of the happiest days you’ll ever experience but it’s not without issues.

He couldn’t eat.

He couldn’t sleep.

His physical growth was a concern.

His stomach hurt.

But he handled himself in social situations better.

His grades dramatically improved when he remembered to turn in homework.

This seemed to be our academic answer.

Doctors say kids usually grow out of the need for medicine. But when? He still wasn't growing. “Is it because he can’t eat?” we asked.

He waited to grow. We waited.

Then came the day he decided, “I’d like to try without it.”

“Ok.” Yikes! Not a great idea.

He began eating, gaining weight, and looking healthy. Yet we saw him slipping almost immediately. Finding a balance proved impossible. You can’t force pills down the throat of a 15 year old. I’ll admit to trying.

It took until mid-terms sophomore year for him to ask for them back. Defeated, his awesome doctor reassured him, “Matt, your brain just works differently. There’s nothing wrong with that.” God bless him.

Getting our kid, with attention issues and dyslexia, through high school became one of our greatest accomplishments (struggles) as parents. It took more support than I can accurately explain.

He was accepted into every college he desired and his confidence was brimming.

When he left for school, we warned him not to let anyone know he took medicine. In fact, guard it.

Freshman year, he was exhausted from not eating, little sleep and a weakened immune system due to lack of nutrition. He was sort of a mess. He decided to take himself off his meds, again. What he didn’t realize was the amount of sustained focus required for each and every class, tests, project and paper. He ended up calling the doctor himself to reinstate his prescription.

Funny thing about controlled substances, they can’t be faxed or emailed anywhere. A paper copy must be taken to a pharmacy. Identification is required. You can get it every 30 days and not a day sooner then the last time it was dispensed to you. And since he was home last weekend, I handed him his pills personally.

Today, he showed me the bottle with only 12/30 left explaining that someone stole 15 pills from his room.

It’s a crime to steal controlled substances.

It’s a felony to sell them.

My kid is slightly anxious by nature and already concerned about studying for upcoming tests. It’s not merely a crutch.

My solution is “It's against the law. Call the police!”

His idea is a 50 lb. safe because he doesn’t want to make waves and confront anyone.

I know. I know. He has to work it out himself but I’m still mad and I want someone to get in trouble.

It’s been a long road to get here and we don't need anyone else messing it up. We do that just fine on our own.

Do You Still Like Me?

1.)  Six Word Memoir: Write about a significant time in your life in just six words.

So here are my six words: 

They’re Gone…

Still like me?
Phew!!!

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I woke up this morning thinking I was going to be a lazy blogger and “phone in” a post. So for Mama Kat’s Writing Challenge, I picked the shortest prompt, definitely, but also the one I believed to be the easiest…at the time.

You know what?

I’ve spent way too much time deciding and choosing which six words define my life right now. 

So a month ago, we began our second year as empty nesters!

Believe me. You will all get there sooner rather than later and at times you’ll wish that your house was full again but not with toddlers or little people under the age of, oh I don’t know, say 12.

The first year of empty nesting is so very exciting. It’s full of possibilities and wonderment and the world is your oyster syndrome (if there is such a thing) and TIME!

 (Courtesy of DAMNYOUAUTOCORRECT.com)

For once, you have space and breathing room and less stress (except when you think about multiple college tuitions…word of advice, tune that out!).

YOU get to choose what it is you’d like to do. Sounds ideal, yes?

Well it is and it’s not.

Because the second year rolls around…

And the newness, as with most things in life, has worn off…

And you still have someone important to think about; someone else's happiness to factor into your equation of fun…that wonderful partner you chose 23.5 years ago. When you actually write the number, it sounds really long! I was in my 20’s when I enthusiastically said "I do!" for Pete’s sake!

You hope 25 years down the line, you still enjoy doing the same things and, more importantly, you still like each other.

We still do.

PHEW!

Not that I was worried or anything…

Where Babies Come From...

Being a mom for a while now, almost 22 years, I have more than a few instances where my child and I both lost something youthful and childlike. Me...just from a different angle. I know you'll get this…

So two definite standouts stories are when the wheels fell off the whole Santa, Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy gigs all at the same time, in one fell swoop. Boy, did I feel rotten that day.

The other is the day I was forced to explain how babies were made to my oldest, who was/is a very sharp cookie.

I think I'll tell you "the birds and the bees" one. I’m not so sure I did a very good job so please don’t judge me. I was caught off guard with very little time to formulate a plan.

ADVICE FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO HAVEN’T GONE DOWN THIS PATH YET…HAVE A PLAN FORMULATED WAY AHEAD OF TIME!!!

Just saying it helps. And it goes for Daddies, too, because you get to do it with your boys (at least that’s how it worked in this household).

Each year, the kids in our schools spend some time at the Robert Crown Center, which is nationally recognized for teaching kids K – 8^th grade about healthy eating, puberty, human reproduction, tobacco, and alcohol and drug abuse prevention through science-based programs.

They do a fine job explaining things over there and we, parents, are quite happy for their support with all those tricked up things I mentioned above especially, you guessed it, human reproduction!

So in fifth grade, all the boys and girls go with a parent to an after school program to begin touching upon the topic of reproduction (in fourth grade, they learned a little about puberty and this was the add on piece to that).

The first half went swimmingly with both the boys and girls together. They each learned a bit of anatomy related to themselves and the opposite gender. Very nicely and scientifically presented, I thought.

Then the genders split up for the “big” stuff.

It was right about this time that my daughter began complaining of a headache. Go figure.

“Sweetheart, hang in there. It’s almost finished then we can go.”

“Mom, I DON’T FEEL GOOD!” she whispered loudly. I’m diagnosing it as sensory overload but I'm not a doctor.

“Okay, then. Let’s go.” And I motioned to my friend, Susie, with my hand waving perpendicularly to my throat, mouthing “We’re outta here.”

Amanda was sleeping on the couch practically before the car was in park. She'd have just enough time to nap it off before her evening gymnastics.

That’s when I got the call from Susie who said, 

“Just so you know, Natasha asked to know exactly how the egg reaches the sperm for fertilization. The instructor felt as if she had to answer the question. So all the girls in the fifth grade, except Amanda, know exactly how a female egg is fertilized. Catch my drift?”

I might have said, “Oh, F-bomb. Figures Natasha!” I can’t remember.

So I will net out the conversation that took place in the car to gymnastics between my daughter and me. She was in the back seat and I was conversing with her through the rearview mirror.

Me: “Sweetheart, I understand at Robert Crown that Natasha asked a question and the answer was provided to the group and I feel you should have the answer, too. It’s pretty grown up information but I know you can handle it.”

Her: “Okkkkk?”

Me: “Well, you know that boys have a penis, right? And girls have the area where their periods come from (I just couldn’t say the “V” word). Men provide the sperm and women provide the egg in order for a baby to begin inside a woman. You with me.”

Her: “Yeeeeees?”

Me, blurting out rather quickly: “Well, when two married people like your daddy and mommy love each other so much and want to have a baby, they share a special hug where the man’s penis and the woman’s period area connect on the inside......of the woman. That’s how the sperm reaches the egg!”

Thinking I’d done a pretty good job with little collateral damage, I glanced in the mirror. I could actually see her thinking for a minute.

But then her face began to change, and kind of screw up. I got nervous.

She sort of shivered, winced and shouted:

"YOU. HAVE. GOT. TO. BE. KIDDING. ME!!!”

Me: “Sweetheart, it’s really no big deal. Thought you should know. Do you have any questions?”

Her: “ABSOLUTELY, NOT!”

She ran out of the car to gymnastics and never brought it up again… Thankfully. Until we had to go to Robert Crown... the next time.

Things changed a little for us going forward.

But I think I did pretty well on the fly. Don’t you?

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4.) Describe a moment where you or your child lost a part of childhood (realizing Santa isn’t real, etc.)